


A Human Condition

by Ika_Iti0302



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-11 03:29:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20539394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ika_Iti0302/pseuds/Ika_Iti0302
Summary: Are people born wicked? Or do they have wickedness thrust upon them? After all, she...wait, shit. Wrong show.And yet, oddly relevant.A bet between the forces of good and evil isn't unheard of. But what happens when an angel and a demon are the stakes?





	1. Prologue

"Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name" is probably the most spoken sentence in the English language, seconded closely by "have you tried turning it off and on again?" It is also the most incorrect sentence in every conceivable way. 

  


"Our Creator, who art galaxy-hopping more often than not and leaving Heaven to its own devices, flaky is thy name" would be far more apropos. "Thy kingdom is being run by sycophantic angels, thy will is super confusing on Earth as it is in Heaven." Sure, it isn't as catchy, but at least it's honest.

  


That's not to say, of course, that God is out of touch with the goings-on of humans, angels, and demons alike. In fact, God remains the most well-informed being of all time, which is precisely why She was sat on a bench in St. James Park staring straight ahead at an angel and a demon who hadn't swapped back into their own bodies yet.

  


They had done it, those clever bastards. They had not only saved all of humanity from the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, and Lord of Darkness, but they had also managed to scare the absolute shit out of every being in Heaven and Hell with their ingenious little scheme. It had been spectacular, and the Almighty laughed harder than She had in ages when Aziraphale-as-Crowley had the gall to ask for a rubber duck.

  


A smile grew on Her face as She remembered it-- the type of smile that grows and grows until it reaches all the way up to one's eyes-- and the sun shone just a bit brighter on the two oblivious supernatural beings across the way.

  


"Good of you to show, " She said, seemingly to no one. "Come sit with me. And put that out, please."

  


Lucifer had been far less impressed with the events of the previous days and was brooding so hard that it was nearly palpable and actually seared the air around him. He had appeared, as he does, in a ball of worms, millipedes, and filth that wriggled as one solid mass from beneath the ground and crawled upon itself until it took shape as a man in a perfectly tailored black suit puffing on a hand-rolled cigarette. Somehow his strikingly chiseled features and bright blue eyes betrayed none of the  _ loathing _ he felt at being summoned.

  


He sat next to Her on the bench, leaving as much room as possible, then made a show of putting out the cigarette on his forked tongue. 

  


"Can we get on with it, then?" he crooned, his voice deep and silky. "Hell is a bit of a shit show at the moment, so if you're just wanting to gloat, make it quick."

  


"Oh, Lucifer. When have you ever known me to gloat? Just because  _ you _ would do something if the tables were turned doesn't mean  _ I _ would." She said in the saccharine sweet tone she reserved just for him. "That was always one of your biggest downfalls, you know. Humans call it 'projection'."

  


Lucifer snarled. "I know what projection is, and it had nothing to do with my downfall. You just couldn't stomach being disagreed with."

  


"Disagreed with?" said-ith the Lord, "You pointed a sword at me and told me you vowed to destroy anything I dared create outside of Heaven. Forgive me for being a little miffed."

  


Lucifer rolled his eyes. It was the same song and dance they had been doing since The Fall, and presently, he just wasn't in the mood for it. Beelzebub was already buzzing in his ear (not literally, for once) to get back to Hell and deal with the pandemonium and he still had plenty of brooding to do.

  


"Why did you call me here?" he asked. "I haven't got all day."

  


God looked thoughtful for a moment, then turned Her head to face forward and nodded at the two beings She had been watching previously.

  


"Them."

  


Lucifer, for his part, had been so busy trying to look aloof, disinterested, and attractive that he had completely overlooked the pair. Before he could even react, he watched in disbelief at the familiar way their hands touched and the space between them shimmered as they swapped back into their appropriate forms.

  


The Devil clenched his perfectly straight teeth and the facade of humanity disappeared from his eyes as they flashed a deep, burnt orange color.

  


"Crowley, " he growled furiously.

  


"And Aziraphale. Yes," She said, proudly, ignoring the waves of pure hatred pouring off of Her benchmate.

  


Lucifer pulled a sleek black phone from his suit pocket, ready to summon all of the forces of Darkness at his disposal, and slide his thumb across the screen to unlock it. He scrolled down his contacts, passing Abaddon, Asmodeus, Azazel, Baal, and Barbus until his nimble fingers hovered over "Beelzebub, Prince of Hell", and the little device vanished. Baffled and even angrier, Lucifer cast a scathing look over at the infuriatingly nonchalant King of Kings.

  


"What are you playing at?" he hissed. "You didn't really expect me to just let this fly, did you?"

  


God chuckled wryly. "No, of course not."

  


"Then you agree something needs to be done about them?" Lucifer pressed. He watched her dark eyes for a long moment as she gazed lovingly at the two who had royally fucked up his entire shtick to end this petri dish She called humanity.

  


She sighed. "Well, yes. They've made an impressive mess of things, after all. And the metaphorical cat is out of the bag, as they say."

  


Lucifer scrunched his nose in confusion. 

  


"What cat?" he asked, distracted enough that his temper was reduced to a simmer and his eyes melted back into the exact same shade of blue as the sky. 

  


"I just mean they've managed to work together under the radar since Eden, but that's all over now. There's no way things can go back to the way they were," mused the Lord.

  


Lucifer stared at Her, and, in a move that surprised both himself  _ and _ God, asked for clarification in a very calm, reserved voice:

  


"Are you telling me...that they've been _fraternizing since_ _Eden_? You knew this the entire time and you've just... allowed it?"

  


She smiled smugly back at him.

  


"Yes. It's been rather fun watching their Arrangement evolve over the millennia into actual friendship and...well. If everyone else wasn't so hell-bent on the Great War, excuse the pun, I'm sure it would have been glaringly obvious. They haven't exactly been subtle, " She explained.

  


Lucifer let his eyes flutter shut, then leaned his head back as he took a deep breath.

  


"I'm going to kill him, " he murmured. "No, I'm not going to kill him. I'm going to hurt him. Badly. Every day. For the rest of eternity. I'm going to make a dip in holy water seem like a _fucking_ _spa day_."

  


God hummed skeptically. "No, " she said, "you won't, actually." She could see the sharp movement of his head as he looked at Her, but continued before he could interrupt. "I've been thinking I'd rather like to have him on my side of things again, so I think I'll be taking him back."

  


In another surprise move, one that  _ also _ shocked both of them, Lucifer laughed. It wasn't a cruel laugh, or a menacing laugh, or a Bond villain "muah-ha-ha" one would expect from literal Satan. It was a genuine, almost hysterical laugh. And it was damn creepy.

  


"Y-You've said some absolutely mental shit in your time, " he jeered between a fit of giggles, "but that,  _ that _ , is impressive even for you.

  


"You know what? Let's pretend for a moment that every single inhabitant of Hell, myself included, wasn't itching for Crowley's head on a platter a la John the bloody Baptist. What makes you think, even if I were to let him walk away from his treachery unscathed, that he would ever want to go back being one of  _ Yours _ ?"

  


The angel and the demon, having switched back and traded an appropriate amount of banter and smiling at one another, stood from their bench and began walking side by side.

  


God smiled.

  


"Something tells me it wouldn't take too much convincing, Lucifer, " she said.

  


Now, the Devil can be called many things-- evil, sadistic, twisted, and hateful to name a few-- but nowhere on that list would you find "stupid". And though She tried to hide it, Lucifer recognized the way she was looking at them...at the way She was looking at Aziraphale, specifically. He would know that look anywhere.

  


It was how She looked at  _ him _ before The Fall.

  


"Tell me the real reason you want him, " he said. "And I'll consider it."

  


God turned her gaze to him and raised a perfectly styled eyebrow as if confused.

  


"I don't know what you mean. What real reason?"

  


A smile turned up the corners of Lucifer's full lips. He knew a lie when he heard one, but he could play along.

  


"Alright, then, " he said, "I'll throw out a theory and you tell me when I'm wrong." He turned his eyes back to Crowley and Aziraphale as they stood waiting at a crosswalk and honed in on the angel. His large wide eyes were full of warmth and love, and he had a sweet face with an even sweeter smile. He looked like the actual embodiment of hope and optimism. It was gross, but he supposed he could see the appeal.

"I think you have a new favorite...one who doesn't ask a lot of pesky questions and does what he's told for the most part. One-- the only one, really-- who loves and cares about all of this." He waved his hand in a vague, sweeping manner.

  


For the first time since the conversation began, the dreamy, serene smile that lit up Her face began to slip. She looked as though She was starting to feel downright uncomfortable. 

  


"Oh, but he  _ isn't _ the only one, is he?" the Devil continued, mockingly. "His little fallen friend in the sunglasses has a soft spot for your useless pet project as well. Not that it matters, though. That's just the proverbial icing on the cake for you."

  


He was enjoying this now. He was in his element. Slyly, he shifted closer to Her and leaned in, dropping his voice conspiratorially. 

  


"This isn't about Crowley at all, is it? No. You want Crowley because you can't bear to see that little ray of obedient sunshine hurt, and you don't want us to go and break his favorite toy. How am I doing so far?"

  


God sighed, refusing to meet his eyes.

  


"Are you quite done?" She asked.

  


"How's about a bet, then?" Lucifer replied giddily, clapping his hands and sitting up straight again, mostly ignoring the question. "I bet You...that if You gave them true free will, Aziriel would-"

  


"Aziraphale." She corrected, sounding slightly offended.

  


"Yeah, whatever, I don't care, " he snapped. "If you gave them true free will...like what you gave to them, " he motioned at the nearest group of humans meandering about, "the angel would turn away from you so much sooner than Crowley could ever prove he was worthy to go back upstairs."

  


"Oh, don't be absurd, " She scoffed, crossing Her arms. "That would never happen."

  


"Take the bet, if you're so sure, " Lucifer nearly purred. "You win, you get Crowley. No questions asked, no demonic retribution. Clean slate. I'll even sweeten the pot and pull back a few of my guys... give humanity a bit of a break."

  


She shook her head, but was clearly considering it.

  


"I suppose you would want a greater domain on Earth? More freedom to wreak havoc? Maybe another go at the apocalypse?" She asked.

  


The smile that crossed Lucifer's face was not pleasant, and a bit of the hellish glow returned to his eyes.

  


"Not at all, " he said. "If you lose, all I want is Crowley...and the angel."

  


"Ha! You're ridiculous, " She spat.

  


Lucifer's smile widened into a sickening grin, his too-white teeth bared dangerously.

  


"Not much faith in your little  _ Sunspot _ , " here, he really clicked the T sound, like a proper villain, "is that it?"

  


They locked eyes then, and the world seemed to slow around them. He knew that he didn't need to say another word; the temptation had been planted and She had the same look in Her eye now that She had when they discussed Job so long ago. He had Her, and soon he would have that  _ fucking _ angel.

  


But God was also thinking about Job. She had won that bet, after all; She could win this one, too. All Crowley had to do was prove he was worthy of entering Heaven, and he had already been on that track for the last eleven years. Besides, Aziraphale would  _ never _ turn away from Her. It was a sure thing. And humanity would benefit as well…

  


"You're on."

  


Negotiations began, and a few blocks away, an angel and a demon clinked their champagne flutes together, toasted the world, and remained blissfully unaware of the chaos looming just over the horizon.

  


" _ ...a Nightingale sang in Berkeley Square…" _

  


And that is where our story begins.


	2. A Human Condition: Chapter 1

Aziraphale had only slept three times in the thousands of years he had spent on the earth. The first time was to see what exactly happened during sleep, the second was to pass a particularly boring stretch of time, and the third had been brought on by his first brush with grain alcohol, which he had since sworn off completely.

So it was that when he stirred and awoke in the cushy high-backed chair where he spent most of his evenings, the morning sun began to pour in through the bookshop windows, and he was more than a little confused. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, trying to remember the events of the night before. Had he been drinking? Yes, of course. He had always enjoyed a glass or two of wine in the evening for as far back as humans had started bottling the stuff. What else had changed, then? Why had he fallen asleep?

These thoughts swam around his head just long enough for him to shift in his chair before they were joined by several more thoughts that were far more urgent. When had his back began to ache? Why did he feel so groggy? What on earth was going on in his lower abdomen? He opened his eyes and pulled his eyebrows together as more and more questions now raced through his foggy, overwhelmed mind.

There in front of him, sprawled out on a bench like a crumpled puppet, was Crowley. It seemed as though he, too, had fallen asleep unexpectedly, given the way his wine glass dangled precariously from his fingers over the edge of the bench. How gravity hadn't pulled it the rest of the way down was anyone's guess, really, but there was no time to ponder physics.

"Crowley, " croaked Aziraphale, his throat feeling dry and tight. When all he heard in response was slow, steady breathing with a hint of a snore at the end, he swallowed and tried again. "Crowley, what-"

No, seriously, what was that weird pressure below his belly? It was uncomfortable and demanding attention now, but what did it want? He crossed his legs to see if that would help. A brand new sensation, one that pinched and made him squeak involuntarily from the back of his throat, made him immediately uncross them again. Not sure what else to do, he stood, and the pressure became almost unbearable. Quickly and acting on pure instinct, he shuffled to the bathroom down the hall (he had heard it was very nice and always extreme clean but had never actually stepped foot into it before) where he made several discoveries.

He liked precisely none of them.

Crowley, on the other hand, had been startled awake when Aziraphale closed the bathroom door rather loudly and promptly dropped the wine glass the rest of the way to the floor. It broke into three pieces, and he groaned quietly before snapping his fingers to repair it. He raised an eyebrow when it remained damaged.

_ Snap _ . Nothing.

_ Snap. _ He was getting a bit fucked off now.

_ Snap, snap, snap. _ He looked at his hand, then smacked it against the bench as if it were a remote with dead batteries and regretted it immediately as a sharp pain shot through his entire arm. He didn't realize it in that moment, but he had, quite literally, struck a nerve.

"Aziraphale!" he called, unsure of where  the angel he had gone, and held his now sore hand to his chest.

"Um, just a moment, " came the muffled, almost panicky reply from down the hall.

Something was definitely not right, Crowley decided. He stood, feeling something like fuzzy television static in his right foot as soon as he put weight on it. Had his foot fallen asleep? he wondered. That would be a first. He knew that it happened to humans all the time, but-

"Ah, shit, " he whispered. "Aziraphale!"

A few moments later, Aziraphale emerged looking rather put out and found Crowley pacing in front of one of the large bookcases that encircled the majority of the room, both hands planted firmly on his hips.

"I think something is wrong, " he said, wringing his hands nervously into a small white towel.

"Oh, you think?" replied Crowley, turning to face him.

Aziraphale stopped short and let out a sharp, surprised gasp. If Crowley hadn't been used to his histrionics after six thousand years of knowing him, he may have actually reacted. Not so much at the gasp, but at the look of genuine astonishment on his face. Instead, he made the universal expression for the exasperated version of "what now?"

"Your eyes, " said Aziraphale.

Crowley brought his uninjured hand to his eyes as if feeling that they were still there. But that was stupid, he realized. Of course they were, how else could he see out of them?

"What about them?" he asked.

"Th-they're...not..." Aziraphale stammered. "They're brown." 

And rather winsome, he thought.

Crowley blinked, stood frozen in place for a few heartbeats (that was new, too) then walked calmly to the bathroom. Aziraphale was right, of course. There in the mirror gazing back at him was the face that belonged to the body he had been assigned so long ago, but it was wrong. His hair was in an actual state of dishevelment rather than its usual styled chaos, he had a thin brush of stubble along his jawline, and his eyes were, indeed, a deep chocolate brown that had absolutely none of the danger or menace of his demon eyes. He glanced upward, his gaze cutting beyond the ceiling, twisting his face into an unimpressed sneer.

"What the hell are you up to?" he mumbled, darkly.

\----------------

Beelzebub groaned as zzzze stepped through the elevator doors with a putrid green assignment folder tucked loosely under zzzzir arm, punched the 8 button (which would actually bring zzzzir to the third floor, because Hell), and leaned heavily against the grimey rusted walls of the claustrophobic enclosure. Zzzze had expected things to be crazy once Lucifer returned from his meeting up top, but nothing could have prepared zzzzir for having to deal with these fuckwits.

During the First War, before The Fall, they had been Lucifer's most loyal-- his own personal cheerleading squad. After The Fall, he had given them special jobs coming up with the best, most efficient ways to lead humanity astray, and they had all risen valiantly to the challenge. They were so successful, in fact, that God had cursed them, specifically, to bear the full burden of their malevolence by forcing them to embody their own creations. It had been proper nasty at the time, really. Eventually over the millennia, they fell into their roles with a sort of blase acceptance, and had become the rock stars of the demon hierarchy. But they still had to answer to Beelzebub.

The elevator doors whined like nails on glass as they opened, revealing the gaudy, smokey, neon-colored room beyond. A large sign hung on the far wall flashed a very dramatic welcome message: "Abandon All Hope, Ye Who Enter Here" and scrawled in glowing spray paint beneath it, " _ The Seven _ ".

Beelzebub rolled zzzzir eyes.

"Alright, look alive you wank stains, " zzzze called out, banging zzzzir hand against the walls to create as much noise as possible. "Our Vile Lord has an assignment for you."

Slowly, and one by one, the seven doors that lined the walls began to open.

\----------------

Michael was  _ stressed _ .

Word around Heaven was that Gabriel had, in a sense, been put on "disciplinary leave" for "the foreseeable future" as punishment for his role in nearly  _ killing _ Aziraphale. Everyone knew what that meant, though no one would talk about it.

Michael shivered at the thought, but she couldn't blame the Lord for Her judgement. Gabriel had gone well off-script with that little stunt.

No one believed that Michael wasn't in on it, of course; and why should they? She had brought the holy water to Beelzebub for Crowley's destruction, after all. It wasn't much of a leap to think she at least had knowledge of similar plans for the angel she viewed as a traitor, if not a direct hand in it. But honestly, Crowley was a  _ demon _ , not one of theirs. It was literally her job to snuff out evil, wasn't it? And Michael had genuinely thought that when Gabriel was talking about punishing Aziraphale, he simply meant there would be a stern talking to and perhaps a reassignment to something off of Earth. Maybe counting pebbles on Venus or something. 

That would have done the trick, Michael was sure of it.

The sound of clicking heels against the polished ethereal floor pulled her attention away from these thoughts, and she nearly discorporated when she saw who the heels belonged to.

Seraphiel. Head of the Seraphim, protector of Metatron, badass-est of the Heavenly Host, and leader of the Celestial Harmonies acapella choir.

"You've really stuck your feathers in it, " he said.

"W...uh, well. I di...w…" Michael replied, jogging beside him as he moved past her.

He shoved a folder at her, never breaking his abundantly long strides and cut her off. Well, he would have cut her off if she had been using actual words.

"You have an assignment. Read the file and figure out which two Guardians you want to send, " he said, turning the corner and leading her down a long white hallway.

Michael was stunned and nearly fell behind as the first few words of the file jumped out at her.

"Two?" she asked. "Lucifer's using  _ them _ and all I get is  _ two _ ?"

Seraphiel stopped walking and turned to face her, his tall, powerful form towering over her, narrowing his honey-brown eyes in annoyance.

"And you're lucky I was able to give you that much, " he bellowed. He didn't yell the words, and he didn't really mean to bellow. It's just how he spoke, especially when he was unhappy. "You were really close to being solo on this, Michael. You claim you didn't want to see Aziraphale dead and it was very nearly up to you and you alone to prove it. But by Her grace and a  _ lot _ of faith in you on my part, you get two helpers now.  _ You're welcome _ ."

Michael gulped and nodded quickly.

"Y-yes, Seraphiel. Thank you for your wisdom, " she stuttered.

He looked her over and shook his head as he placed his hand on one of the dozens of doors in the hallway.

"I have a meeting. Read the file, pick your Guardians, and get them down there. You know Hell moves fast, " he said.

Michael nodded again and clutched the folder tightly in her delicate hands. She turned, her mind already racing.

"Michael, " called Seraphiel. He waited for her to look back at him and he gave her one last grave warning…

"Unless you want to end up like Gabriel,  _ don't mess this up _ ."

\-----------------

Aziraphale had considered following Crowley to the bathroom to continue the conversation, but ultimately thought better of it and walked slowly back to the chair he had been asleep in not ten minutes before. He sat and waited, admittedly not as patiently as he would have under different circumstances, then he waited a bit more. And a bit more.

"Are you alright?" he asked when Crowley finally rejoined him in the small back room. He almost said, "You were in there quite a while, " but a fear of being rude stayed his tongue.

"Fine, " said Crowley, his voice sounding just as casual as it ever had. "Not every day you wake up with new equipment, eh?" he added with a wide, cheeky grin.

Aziraphale gave him a withering look, complete with a slow blink.

"It appears we're human, " he said, trying not to dwell on the implication. 

Crowley sat back down on the bench and carefully picked up the shards of glass at his feet. He set them on the small table beside him and made a mental note to throw them away after this weird conversation the two of them seemed to be heading towards.

"Appears that way, yeah, " he agreed, lounging in a way that took up four times as much space as he needed to.

Aziraphale took a deep breath, feeling somehow annoyed and comforted in equal measure by the reply.

"But  _ why _ are we human? I mean, I certainly don't expect you to know any more than I do, but…" He let the sentence trail off before asking what was really on his mind. "Do you think God is...punishing us? For switching places?"

For a moment, a very fleeting moment, Crowley almost laughed. But the sincere sadness and worry on Aziraphale's face and in his voice gave him pause. Now wasn't the time for snark, he decided.

"Nah, I don't think so, " he said as nonchalantly as he could muster. "I mean, I've been punished by God before and this feels totally different."

That probably could have been worded differently, he thought, but it seemed to have the desired effect when Aziraphale gave the small, reassured smile of someone who desperately wants to believe something but probably doesn't if they think about it too hard.

"So, a test, perhaps?" he said, hopefully.

"Probably, yeah. You know how She is with Her tests, " replied Crowley.

The two sat in silence for several moments, each contemplating their new existence and silently hoping that whatever was going on would wrap up sooner rather than later. A thought was occurring to Aziraphale, and he opened his mouth to allow it to take form, but he promptly closed it and sat up straighter when a deep, low growl sounded from somewhere in the room. His eyes widened, and he looked around frantically. What sort of hellbeast had been sent to end them? What sort of horrible-

"Did you hear that?" Crowley laughed. "Wow, that was loud. I didn't know it got that loud."

Aziraphale looked at him, half-startled and half-confused (and maybe a bit taken aback by the sound of a genuinely pleased belly-laugh coming from one who was so recently an actual demon). 

"That was  _ you _ ?" he demanded.

"Yeah, " said Crowley, rubbing his stomach. "Seems I'm hungry. Breakfast?"

"How can you possibly think of food at a time like this?" Is what Aziraphale would have replied if his own stomach hadn't chosen that exact moment to betray him with its own feral sounding rumble.

Instead, he sighed.

> "That would be lovely."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hullo! I hope you enjoyed Chapter 1 and look forward to posting the next chapter within the week.
> 
> For those wondering about the Beelzebub section, I offer this quote from author Neil Gaiman when asked about zzzzir pronouns on the show:
> 
> "I don’t think there were any. Probably Zzzzzzir."
> 
> You know, because flies.
> 
> Also, as I've mentioned, I want to highlight the talented cosplayers and fanartists I run across and who give me permission to link their stuff. This week, I want to give a big shout out to 
> 
> TemaTime (cosplay)  
Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/TemaTime/posts  
Twitter: https://.twitter.com/Tema_Time
> 
> And
> 
> Agni (artist)  
Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/asongofstannis  
Twitter: https://mobile.twitter.com/asongofbrienne
> 
> They are both wonderfully talented and all around lovely people, so please check them out and give them some love.
> 
> If you or someone you know would like to be featured here in the notes, have any questions about the fic, or just wanna be friends hmu on Twitter @TamiFromC137.
> 
> Ta-Da!


	3. Chapter 2

Pride had always known he was meant to be a leader. Even before The Fall, he was aware of his potential; the only problem was that he seemed to be the only one until Lucifer had given him the chance to prove himself.

It had been a simple request: find ways to lead God's new hairless apes astray-- the more subtle, the better-- and it had been he who came up with the simplest, most subtle of all. The sin of pride, also known to some as "the sin of angels", had been the perfect Trojan horse before the concept of a Trojan horse was even a thing. It had been the sin of pride, after all, that truly tempted Eve to eat the apple. Crawley had simply been the one who nurtured it with his clever whispers. But it had been Pride's idea, and the one he most cherished. The one that put him on the map and in Lucifer's good graces. The one that made him the eventual leader of The Seven.

He stood from his seat at the head of the large rectangular table and looked down at the others, both literally and metaphorically. They were a surly looking bunch, for sure, but they knew their places. More importantly, they knew his, which is why all six pairs of eyes turned to him without even needing to do so much as clear his throat. He smiled, satisfied.

"Let's get started, then, " he said, flashing a set of teeth that looked too numerous and too large for his mouth. "You've all had three days to look over what we have on the targets. Dazzle me with your ideas and questions. Calmly, and one at a time."

He looked pointedly at Wrath, and she glared at him with red eyes through her curtain of wild, unkempt hair, but said nothing.

' _ I _ want to go first, " demanded the grating, whiny voice belonging to the diminutive figure to Pride's left. She looked like a child of about eight or nine years old with large emerald colored eyes and two large pigtails that curled and fell in loose ringlets around her pinched, petulant little face. She sat on her knees in the center of an ornate chair that was large enough to hold Gluttony.

"You have the floor, Envy," Pride told her.

"I don't understand  _ why  _ we were brought in on this. If they're human they'll just get old and die, so it seems rather superfluous to call on us. I  _ want _ a better assignment, " she said, crossing her small arms as punctuation.

Wrath growled from somewhere deep in her chest.

"We only have a year to get it done, you stupid little bitch. Did you even read the files?" she snapped.

"Everyone read the files, Wrath, " interrupted Greed as he tapped absently at his (top of the line, thank you very much) SmartWatch.

"Then she's being purposefully dense and I  _ fucking _ hate that, " Wrath replied, slamming a cloth-wrapped hand against the table.

Sloth grinned. 

"You hate everything, " he said, lazily twirling a bit of his moss-like grey hair around his finger.

You wouldn't know it from this interaction, or any other for that matter, that the Sins got along for the most part. They had to, in their own ways, because it was an unfortunate truth that they had always been stronger in teams than they were as individuals. 

Take the currently explosive duo of Wrath and Envy, for example. Without their mutual cooperation, Cain would never have slain his brother, and who knows how much longer it would have taken for the first murder to occur. And it was a thing of beauty when Lust, Pride, and Greed got together, as anyone who's ever been to Las Vegas can attest. Even Sloth and Gluttony have come up with a few zingers together over the years, the most recent being the  _ very _ popular UberEats.

Still, when the seven of them got together in a formal meeting, it always seemed to devolve within the first few minutes. At least no one was bleeding yet, so Pride was almost impressed.

Almost.

"Hey!" he roared, his voice booming so loudly that it shook the very floor beneath their feet. This immediately regained their attention, and they fell into silence once more. "One. At. A. Time."

"I, urrrrp, have a question, " Gluttony said, raising one of his massive hands. "The files were a bit on the lean side, eh? We usually have more to go on when the boss gives us specific targets."

Pride breathed deeply. If he had a least favorite, and all but Envy had held the title at one point or another, it would be Gluttony. He was just so...belchy and sloven. But for once, Pride felt that he had actually contributed something useful, so he did his best to hide his disdain.

"Good question, Gluts, " Pride complimented, pacing importantly to keep the attention on him this time. "Yes, the files are not what you'd call 'extensive'. Everyone down here assumed Crowley was doing his goddamn job, so all we have on him are temptation reports that clue us in to some of his favorite haunts. The angel has even fewer notes because, well, we aren't exactly getting help from up top these days. All we know for sure is that they're important to one another, and as we all know, sometimes that's more than enough."

He paused his pacing, taking a moment to look at each of the others in their eyes, then leaned on the table once more.

" _ How _ important they are to one another is yet to be determined. But we have a few of our guys on the surface-- some lower-level critter-heads that Crowley's never had to deal with."

Sloth tensed and reached up to stroke the slug nestled behind his ear as Greed scrunched his nose disdainfully at the term  _ critter-heads _ . It wasn't a slur, per se, but it wasn't very polite, either.

And believe it or not, even demons have standards.

  
Back in London, Crowley stared into his hallway mirror, leaning in close to look at his eyes for the hundredth time in three days. They had never been brown before; not even before he'd become a demon. In the beginning, from the moment he had opened them for the first time, they were yellow. Soft, pale yellow, with perfectly normal, round pupils, he remembered. He had never seen them that way in a mirror, but he knew, just like he knew they had changed when he had been cast out with the rest of them.

Now they were brown and he still wasn't used to it. There was nothing  _ wrong _ with them being brown, of course. They suited him just fine and made him look sort of sweet and trustworthy, which he figured must have been the joke God had been going for. It seemed odd to him, though, that Aziraphale's eyes hadn't changed too.

His cell phone buzzed in his hand and he looked down to see a notification for an app he had downloaded to teach him how to style his hair the way humans did. He'd always just sort of told his hair what to do before, of course, and it astonished him that it took so much work for it to look so effortlessly put together. And product. So, so much product.

_ Bollocks _ , he thought as he caught sight of the time on the lit screen. Nearly six o'clock already. He needed to get over to the bookshop.

Unfortunately, the Bentley was not an option to get there, much to Crowley's chagrin. He hadn't used a key in the damn thing for decades, so there was no way for him to start it now. Instead, he gave himself a few moments to gaze longingly at it before hailing a nearby taxi. This was nearly always an unpleasant experience and just one more thing on his list of reasons to miss his powers, however capable he was without them.

When the taxi pulled up in front of the familiar storefront of the bookshop several minutes later, Crowley groaned when he saw that the  _ Closed _ sign hadn't been put up yet, though he wasn't remotely surprised. More than likely, Aziraphale still had a customer--if you can call people who don't actually  _ buy _ anything "customers"--inside and didn't want them to feel rushed. As long as they continued to not try to buy anything, he would never do anything so rude as to close at a consistent, reasonable time.

Crowley paid the driver with cash he had luckily tucked away for emergencies and made his way to the shop's front door but stopped suddenly when he caught a whiff of something familiar that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. It was an unmistakable sickly sweet smell that nearly every demon in hell wore like a badge of honor.

It smelled like death. 

That's lowercase death, mind you, not to be confused with uppercase Death, who actually smells more like ozone and milk that's gone past its expiration date by a day or so. 

Quickly, Crowley looked around, his keen eyes scouring his surroundings for anything out of sorts, but could see nothing that immediately struck him as curious or demonic. Still, he waited, taking deep breaths to try and narrow down the source of the smell for a few seconds more before turning around and stepping inside.

Sure enough, there were two oblivious people-- neither of whom were Aziraphale-- standing around with their eyes so intently focused on the books in their hands that it seemed nothing could break their concentration.

That didn't mean he wouldn't try, of course. He was hungry, see, and therefore not in the mood for this bullshit.

"Angel?" he called, loud enough to cause the girl a few steps away from him to visibly flinch. "Are we still on for dinner?"

Aziraphale peered from behind a bookshelf and removed his reading glasses, looking somewhat confused until he glanced up at the clock on the wall. Realization spread over his face and he tucked the book he had been reading under his arm.

"Oh, um, yes, " he said with a nervous smile. "Sorry, lost track of the time. I just need to, ah, lock up and put away a few things."

Taking the hint, the first of the last customers closed up his book and placed it back in its place on the shelf, gave a thankful wave to Aziraphale, and left.

_ Good boy, _ thought Crowley, as he turned his head to glare purposefully at the remaining patron-- a short, dark-haired girl who he could have sworn he'd seen in there before. This was unusual, given that Aziraphale did everything in his power--especially when he  _ had  _ power-- to keep people from wanting to return, lest he be in danger of actually having to part with one of his books.

She didn't look up from the volume clutched in her hands to meet his eyes. She simply adjusted her stance, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, and kept her dark eyes scanning the pages in front of her.

Crowley suppressed a sneer, but only just, and turned his attention back to Aziraphale.

"What've you got there?" he asked, arching his eyebrow curiously and taking a few long, leisurely steps towards him. It hadn't escaped his notice that the book Aziraphale had tried to subtly hide in the crook of his arm was definitely not one of his usual stock. It was small, for starters, and had a soft, pastel cover.

"Hmm? Oh, this. It's nothing, " Aziraphale replied, lamely. "Just a bit of light reading."

Crowley tilted his head just enough to make out a few of the small words on the spine and mumbled them aloud.

"How to Talk to Angels: A Practical Guide to...Ah. I see, " he said, his expression turning more sympathetic.

Aziraphale looked away, giving another humorless smile to hide his embarrassment.

"I know it's silly. But it's been three days and I haven't heard anything from…" He let the sentence trail off, his large eyes shifting to look over at the girl as he thought of a good way to say the rest of it. "From the...church." 

Nailed it.

"Right, " Crowley said, nodding his understanding of the flimsy euphemism as he leaned against the bookshelf and crossed his arms. "Well, if you ask me, it would do you some good to forget about  _ church _ for a while. The  _ priest _ will get in touch with you eventually, I'm sure, or one of the…" he was running out of metaphors. He hated coming up with metaphors on the fly. "One of the, erm. Ah, hell. What's the word for the people who go to church?"

"The congregation? " suggested Aziraphale helpfully.

"Yes! Them." He had completely forgotten what he was trying to say at this point and stammered a bit as he tried to get back on track. When he finally found his words again, his tone was soft. "Look, either you'll hear from them or you won't. I don't think you can force it, and I don't think you'll find the answers to our  _ situation _ in any book. You'll go mad if you keep this up.”

Aziraphale met his eyes, finding more comfort there than in the words, and nodded.

"You're probably right," he said, his lips twitching up into an unsure but grateful smile. "It's just…"

Crowley nodded. "I know."

There was a part of him that wanted to tell Aziraphale that he was sure everything would be fine, but he had always found it hard to lie to him. There was another part of him, one that he kept completely absent from his expression, that was fucking  _ angry _ and wanted to burn Heaven down for causing the sadness that was written all over the former angel's face.

Unable to do so, Crowley did what he always did and took out his frustration in a different way. He turned his gaze back to the girl.

"Oi!" he shouted, then snapped his fingers to get her attention. "Wrap it up, Princess. Shop's closed."

\-------------

Some time later in a cozy corner of a nearby Japanese restaurant, the two sat in comfortable silence as they made their way through some of the finest sushi both Aziraphale and Crowley had ever tasted. It had been Aziraphale's suggestion to dine there, and though he did enjoy the food, it seemed that he just wasn't very hungry and most of his favorite roll sat untouched in front of him.

Crowley, on the other hand, had apparently developed a tapeworm and was sampling nearly everything the server even remotely suggested. That was decidedly out of character for the ex-demon, but he had been doing this since they had woken up human.

Just as Aziraphale was about to ask about it, Crowley swallowed down the rest of his chutoro tataki and let out a startling loud, satisfied moan.

"Good idea coming here, " he said, reaching for his wine and taking a sip. 

"Thank you, " replied Aziraphale, then took a deep breath in preparation to ask his question.

"Listen, you need to be careful, " Crowley said suddenly, leaning forward a bit and dropping his voice so that only the two of them could hear. "I mean, I know you're not oblivious, but I smelled something...demon-y at the bookshop before I came in and it got me thinking. They can be anywhere, you know. Any _ one _ . Including the people who come into your shop."

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows in surprise at this announcement.

"Smelled something demon-y?" he repeated. "What does that mean, 'demon-y'?"

"You know, " replied Crowley, reaching for a new morsel. "Unpleasant. Death-y. Like a smell that makes you say, 'oh, that's foul' and crinkle your nose."

As if to telegraph his understanding, Aziraphale crinkled his nose distastefully. 

"Well that's unfortunate, " he said, concern seeping into his expression. "I was worried something like this could happen. There isn't anything stopping, " he glanced around nervously, " _ your lot _ from treating us the way they treat the rest of humanity."

"Not just my lot, " Crowley pointed out.

Aziraphale moved one of the pieces of his roll around the stylish square plate with his chopsticks.

"No, I suppose not."

He took a bite and chewed slowly.

"I could stay at your place if you'd like, " offered Crowley, his brown eyes softening. "I may not be a demon anymore, but I still know their tricks. And I don't mind the couch or anything."

Aziraphale chuckled softly.

"Don't be silly, " he said good-naturedly, wiping his mouth with the corner of his napkin and avoiding Crowley's eyes. "We can't go about living in fear all the time, can we? You may as well just move in if that were the case."

Crowley blinked, unsure of what to even say to that, but more concerned with the way his stomach flipped at that moment.

"Yeah, eh, w… Yeah. Yeah, you're probably right, " he said, finishing off his glass of wine to soothe his suddenly dry throat. "Just, you know, if you change your mind, it wouldn't be putting me out or anything."

Aziraphale looked up from his plate and gave the first genuine smile Crowley had seen on his lips in days.

"Thank you, Crowley, " he said, softly. "I'll remember that."

  
Across the restaurant, a young man in the dark restaurant uniform wiped down a table that had recently become unoccupied. Though he was attentive and fastidious, he kept glancing at the two men sat in the dimly lit corner. To anyone who noticed him, he would have just seemed curious about the pair, maybe even attracted to one of them.

But as he flung his washrag over his shoulder and retrieved the tote of cleared dishes, a thin, scaly tail pulled itself up beneath his bandana, and he smiled deviously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week, I want to again give a big shout out to
> 
> TemaTime (cosplay)  
Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/TemaTime/posts  
Twitter: https://.twitter.com/Tema_Time
> 
> And
> 
> Agni (artist)  
Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/asongofstannis  
Twitter: https://mobile.twitter.com/asongofbrienne
> 
> They are both wonderfully talented and all around lovely people, so please check them out and give them some love.
> 
> If you or someone you know would like to be featured here in the notes, have any questions about the fic, or just wanna be friends hmu on Twitter @TamiFromC137.
> 
> Ta-Da!


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